Night of Surrender
by Hepzibah Smith
Summary: It was a night of surrender...but for whom? Tom Riddle Sr./Merope drabble.


One candle lit the entirety of the house. It flickered as the cool wind swept from the open windows. She hoped the wind would wake him soon. She hoped that he would wake at all.

A beautiful vase lay shattered on the floor. Drastically underestimating Tom's strength, Merope had given him too little of his medicine that morning. Nothing had seemed amiss at first; he kissed her as normal, he touched her gently as was given, and yet he was distant, his actions mechanical and cold. It was noon before she saw him trying to rip the doorknob off and then run to their parlor to shake the iron bars on the windows. She hadn't meant to hurt him. No, she'd never hurt Tom. But he just wouldn't stop screaming. Screaming scared her. Screaming was what Papa had done, and was probably still doing, somewhere in those deep woods.

Fingers grazed his hairline, delicately soothing the bruise that was beginning to form there. Her other hand shook as she leaned to press the bottle to his pale lips. She poured the liquid in and followed the rite with a chaste kiss. The potion tasted bitter, and yet fired her body with desire. He was always so beautiful, even with his head burst clean open by the porcelain. Placing the cork back tightly and hiding the bottle back into its safe spot in the side table, Merope sat back on her legs and watched him as he slept. Darkness ebbed on his face as the fire stood firm, then faltered, and then lit him to sight once more. She let her hands run tentatively against the taunt lines of his cheeks; broken nails digging into his skin and letting his cool skin brush against her palms. Lying her head against his broad chest, she breathed his smell and let out a sigh of contented laughter. His heart was still beating.

"Tom," she whispered, wondering how her voice could sound so far away when she was right here beside him. His body did not stir. She lifted her head and watched his still face.

"Wake up, Tom."

His nostrils flared and his eyelids jumped. One hand rose and fell like lead onto her back. He groaned.

"Merope? Darling...Darling, what happened?" he muttered, his brow breaking into a confused line before his green eyes greeted her dead brown ones.

She smiled, her head moving to rest on his adam's apple, her matted hair covering his chin and blocking his view of her face. "You tried to get away from me, Tom. You...you said her name..."

His hand gripped tighter on her back and he shifted his weight so that he was holding her to him on hi side. He kissed her dirty cheek and let his lips fall lower and continue a line on her jaw line. "Forgive me, Merope,'' he said between his small bites to her neck. "You know I love you alone...Not her...Never her...They made me take her...I want you...I have since...since...Don't be mad at me, Merope."

He bent his face far into her neck and nibbled the soft skin behind her ear. She moaned and arched into his touch, the pads of her fingers searching every inch of skin that belonged to her new husband.

"For what..."

It seemed that he would not answer her; his lips and teeth had found their way to the apex of her shoulder blade. Her hand gripped his own shoulder and she let her head fall back and allowed him more space to claim her. "Oh, Tom...you already know my body so well...what am I mad at you for?"

"I've forgotten when I fell in love with you," he admitted, placing an apologetic print of his lips on the base of her neck, staring at her skimpily clad chest rather than her eyes. Her face did not lose its pleasured, lazy presence. Pulling the strands of his hair, Merope pushed her chapped lips against his own and shut her eyes. Her heart fluttered when she heard his breathy moans into her mouth and felt his fingers driving up the hem of her dress.

She slipped her lips from his and let his revive the assault of his mouth to her face, far more frenzied than before. Her own body ached with a growing need for him, a need that would kill her if not meet properly. Grabbing both of his hands, Merope gently prodded his body and pushed him back onto the floor, holding his arms above his head and grinning at the curious look in his eyes.

"I'm hurt, Tom. Don't you know? You've always loved me..."

His mouth remained languid, but his eyes danced with a passion and pleasure that made her skin crawl in delight. His hair stuck to his forehead in a sweaty paste, looking like more a part of the night, the darkness of their home, than a piece of his body. Both sat still for a moment, Merope seated comfortably with her bum on his abdomen and her legs hugging his sides. She stopped smiling at him and let her eyes dart to where the spice rack hung in the dark.

"Do you want a family, Tom?" He gave her a confused look. "Do you want to have a baby?"

A naughty smile spread over his face and his deep laugh protruded the clean silence of the room as his bride slide down his body and clenched her fingers into the belt of his trousers. "Isn't it too soon for a little one running about?" She shook her head and he narrowed his eyes. Letting his hands balance him on her thin hips, Tom leaned up and caught her in another snogging session, reveling in her giggles, taking pride in all her whimpers, and wanting so much more when he released her lips to find her hair wildly splayed in a bush about her head. "I suppose one can never start the art too soon..."

She stayed quiet, not moving over his jittering body. Their eyes meet, and for but a flicker in the moment of the wavering candle, the truth was shared between them; the betrayal and the lies. The spices that couldn't be used in foods that were always in ready supply for the pantry. His dead lover lying somewhere in the woods she had called home. His eyes were raw and soulless. Hers were empty and desperate.

"I love you, Tom Riddle," Merope said suddenly.

Smirking, he touched her forehead and said, ''I love you, Merope Riddle."

And the night became dark again as the final candle waned. Every room was as lost as the next, except for that pantry with the two wandering bodies. In that room all was not lost, but all was found.


End file.
